Of Oaths and Insanity
by Basikilos
Summary: What is is that drives Orson to betray his liege lord? Is his ensuing life with his wife really worth it? A look into Orson's insanity and the events during and after his betrayal from the perspective of a servant.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: Nintendo and Intelligent Systems, man. Nintendo and Intelligent Systems.

* * *

You were his faithful servant.

You had sworn to follow him until death.

Your oath said nothing about madness.

And so you stayed, ever faithful.

Preparing the meals, desperately trying to keep the palace from falling apart – though really, what could you have done? That palace was meant to have hundreds of servants. But you were the only one who stayed.

"Madness, Janx. This is insanity. His wife is dead," the other servants had told you. "He's been driven out of his mind, who knows what he'll do next? No, it's best you leave now."

You hadn't listened to them. What would the lord do without you? No servants and no chefs, and with his complete neglect for his own well-being…surely he would starve. Wouldn't that be betraying your oath to serve him until death? And if you left…what would you become? A servant with no master has no purpose in life. Perhaps, with time, the sting of his wife's death would subside, and he would begin to see sense once more. At least, that's what you had hoped for.

Then, that _man_ had come. You weren't even sure if he was a man. He'd agreed with your lord's delusion of a sickness, and asked to see her. Suspicious, you followed along, taking great pains to remain unseen.

And as you crept closer, something, ever so slightly, began to feel terribly, horribly, wrong. It began with a nagging feeling at the very brink of your senses, so subtle that you didn't even know where it was coming from.

Then it grew stronger and stronger, and you almost gagged when you realized.

It was the smell of something rotting.

The stench grew and grew as you approached the late lady's room.

You lurked outside, fearing discovery and fearing to see what was left of your lord's deceased wife.

You listened as that _creature_ promised to heal her, promised to bring her back from the edge of death itself. But you knew she was no longer on the edge of death. She had not been for months.

There was one condition – it sounded almost too good to be true. But to be back with his beloved once more, your master Orson would have to betray his own liege lord.

He did not even hesitate. You felt that he would regret being away from his wife's side for so long more so than the actual betrayal itself.

As he headed into the hallway you were hiding in, you scrambled back, into the great hall, into safer territory. You pretended that you had heard nothing, that the strange man had not promised to defy the Lord and bring the dead back to life. He smiled at you.

"This man Lyon brings great news, Janx. He says he can heal her. And I believe him."

"That's wonderful, my lord!" You contorted your muscles to form a smile. You felt ghastly, like a grinning white skull in the face of calamity.

He took a deep, long, look into your eyes. "Listen, Janx. I would entrust you with my life, and so I do the same with hers. Watch over her while I am gone, ensure that no harm befalls her. Though I believe Lyon, I do not trust him wholly. Should anything, anything, seem wrong - if he hurts her in any way - you are to tell me the moment I return."

Inwardly, you winced. At this point, everything seemed wrong. Your lord was mad, driven to insanity by his twisted obsession with his dead lover. A necromancer was working his magic in the room down the hallway. And you, you were powerless, unable to stop this lunacy. But outwardly you nodded, the perfect picture of subservience.

"Understood, my lord."

He left.

You stayed in an empty crumbling palace with a decaying body and the necromancer trying to revive it.

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A/N: Just looking at Orson's descent into madness from a different point of view. The next chapter will focus more on Lyon ^^ Reviews are appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

You were to bring the necromancer meals, and so you did. Sometimes, after you had delivered them, you would continue to lurk outside the door, to try and discover what devilcraft and dark sorcery he was using. It was one of these moments where you were discovered.

"You can come in, you know." The dark sorcerer's voice was soft. "Even necromancers can become lonely."

You had ventured in, grasping the silver warding cross hung around your neck that your mother had given you.

He saw the motion, and laughed lightly. "Silver and crosses do no good against the dark. Come, put that down and sit by me."

Feeling slightly foolish, you released the cross but made no move to take it off. You realized that the rotting-flesh smell was gone now, but you still dared not look at the inert body of your late Lady. You dared to tread closer, but did not sit down beside the necromancer.

"You see, Janx – that is your name, is it not? Yes, Janx, the dark is not evil. It is merely knowledge that we fail to understand. And in our fear of what we do not understand, we label it as witchcraft, as sorcery. I see what others do not – that the dark is there to be harnessed. I and the many other scholars of the land merely seek to understand it so that it may be used for good."

The words were out of your mouth before you could stop yourself. "G-good? You are bringing a body back from the dead! It is blasphemy!"

"And is that not the trademark of the holiest? Was it not the ability to resurrect that belonged to the most divine of them all?"

You shook your head. "Not like this. Never like this." But your mind was racing. It was true; the priests old were rumored to have powers to bring back the dead. Was this – this perverted ceremony – truly all that different?

One of the silvery instruments he had brought rung out, creating a clear and bold tone.

"It is time for me to begin again. Stay if you wish, I would appreciate your company. And your master is beyond reason. Should you bring him news of this ritual, he will merely ignore it."

You chose to remain. Spellbound by his hauntingly soft voice, by the runes he drew into the ground, you could not tear your eyes away.

Though his voice was gentle, it held the unmistakable ring of authority.

"Skuld of the Norns, release this single thread from the woven Word. It has been cut and tied, but the knot may yet be undone."

With a flourish of his hands, he completed the ritual.

You glanced skeptically at him. "And yet the Lady still lies dead and motionless. Be this dark sorcery or holy resurrection, it is not very effective."

He laughed. "Be patient. I cannot weave so many enchantments upon her in so short a time. Her body would not be able to take it."

And so it was that every day you watched him perform a new ritual.

"Oh kind Baldr, heal this mortal body of wound and decay. Let her become whole once more."

"Wise Bragi, give your powers of words to her, so that she may speak."

"Ravens of Odin, I humbly ask you to bring back her memories and thoughts."

"I call upon thee, Gleipnir, never-breaking chain. To the faithful husband shall she be tied, and as he lives she shall never die."

He told you of the gods of old, the ancient ones who lived by the sacred ash tree. You scoffed and told him there was only one God. But you had begun to question your own faith by now. If your God was the one true God, why was it that when he invoked his gods, they replied?

In his spare time, he did little else than read from one of the many tomes he had brought with him. He seemed forever thirsty for knowledge, soaking it up quickly, but always hungering for more.

Finally came the day when he spoke the phrase that would bring her back from the dead.

"Give her life, fair Idunn. A single apple is all that I need."

The lady of the house moved.

Her eyelids opened mechanically.

Her jaw dropped open a little too wide, her grin a stretched a little too far, she muttered a single word. "Darling…"

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A/N: I almost hurled writing that last sentence...Uncanny valley ftl. Reviews are loved! Also, I'll be gone for about a month, summer program in a place w/ iffy internet connection :P


	3. Chapter 3

You backed out of the room, you turned, you ran. Ran as far away as you could from that horrifying creature that lived within the shell of your dead lady's body. Even though you knew that you would have to eventually return to bring Lyon his meals, your mind completely and utterly rejected the thought of ever again being in the same room as that _thing_.

You took to leaving the meals outside the room, sprinting away after you had set the tray down. You dared not enter the room, dared not see those empty and soulless eyes again. Though you had only seen them once, they had been burned into your brain, and many nights you awoke, covered in a fearful sweat.

But Lyon sought you out, and cornered you in a hallway. You thought he looked paler, more gaunt and drained, than before.

"Lyon," you said. "You realize the creature you have revived is not my lady Monica, do you not? This…this vile puppetry…is nothing like the holy resurrection you claimed you could perform."

He nodded, gulping for air. Surprised, you had thought that he would protest or offer an explanation. You opened your mouth, planning on telling him to end this perverted farce, but he beat you to words.

"….Kill me…"

"What?" Your head reeled from the sudden shift in conversation.

He wet his pale lips and nodded resolutely, committing himself to his words. "Kill me."

"Why?"

He was sweating profusely now. The words that came out of his throat seemed choked, forced out against his will. "I was a scholar, searching for knowledge. I only wanted to help prevent disaster. Instead, I went too far. I am no longer in control now. It is – it is the D-demo-" he stopped, a spasm racking his entire body. His form went rigid, and when he spoke again, his mouth did not match up with the words you heard.

"Please ignore everything dear Lyon has said. He's not feeling very well," the creature in front of you smiled widely, revealing too many teeth.

"W-what are you?" Even though Lyon had said that your silver cross was useless against the occult, you grabbed for it, its heavy and cool form comforting to the touch.

"Oh, nobody worth mentioning," Lyon's eyes turned red, glinting in the eerie light. "…just the Demon King, that's all."

You were speechless.

"That's right. He never knew it, but he was talking to me all this time. And this puppetry is my doing. His words were useless. He said them all right, but the gods weren't listening to him. The ones he called to stopped caring about mortals a long time ago. Since the humans took up worshipping a new god, they don't care what happens to Midgard anymore. No, I am the one giving this doll life, and when I am powerful enough, I can overpower this man's weak character and control this body myself instead of merely manipulating his mind."

You shuddered in fear and disgust. "I'll…I-I'll kill you!"

It grinned. "Will you now? Well, go ahead and try."

You had no dagger, you had no sword. You leapt for its neck, wrapping your hands around Lyon's – no, the Demon King's frail throat.

The eerie redness began to fade from his irises, and his pupils dilated. "Janx! What are you doing?" he squeezed the sound from between your two hands.

Your voice shook, but you did not loosen your grip. "You told me to kill you, did you not? I am merely fulfilling your request."

"What are you talking about?" his eyes were full of fear. "I never said that!"

You merely shook your head and held on tighter. His face was beginning to turn blue. Then, his eyes turned red once more and he grinned.

"Never thought you'd be so heartless, killing a man with your bare hands. But it takes more than that to kill me."

He jabbed a hand into your gut. Startled, your grip loosened and he twisted out.

He turned and walked out. "Well, I guess this is goodbye now," he waved a hand carelessly, leaving his back completely exposed. "Take good care of the girl, after a bit she should be able to walk on her own. She needs to be fed three times a day – nothing too hard, mind you, her gums aren't very strong yet."

"And what if I refuse to feed her?" you retorted angrily.

"Then she'll die, and your poor master will be very sad indeed. He might kill you for it."

"My master trusts me. I will say that you failed in your quest to heal her, and that you fled, fearing his wrath."

"Very well…you go ahead and tell him that. He has served his purpose already anyways." His head tilted slowly to the right. He appeared to be listening to something you could not hear, you thought. "Though my spies tell me that he has failed to destroy the stone…nevertheless, he is no longer useful to me anymore. Do what you will."

A shimmer in the air – and then he was gone.

And you were left alone again in that giant crumbling castle, devoid of all beings save for the twisted reanimation of your lord's late wife.

You stepped into the room where it was kept.

Its skin was the color of porcelain, and for a brief second you imagined breaking it into millions of tiny shattered fragments so that this _creature_ would no longer defile Lady Monica's memory. But then you remembered it was made of flesh and bone, and that impulse faded away as quickly as it had come. Its head slowly cocked to the right with a sickening crack, and it jerkily turned to meet your eyes.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the lips pulled back a little too widely to reveal a set of gleaming teeth.

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A/N: In Taiwan right now! terrible internet, x.x


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm back! And Taiwan was wonderful :)

* * *

You fed it, kept the monstrous mimicry of humanity alive. It had only been ten days between when Lyon – no, the _Demon King_, had left and when your master returned. Yet those days stretched painfully into long hours.

What bothered you most wasn't its incessant mumbling, the cracking of its stiff joints, its unblinking red-eyed stare. It was the way it _leered_ at you, a disgusting parody of how your late lady used to smile so cheerfully.

Its movements were mechanical, its red eyes empty and devoid of warmth. It took it five seconds to react to any external stimuli, and you had to prod it mouth with the spoon and wait for a few seconds before it would unhinge its jaw and allow itself to be fed.

You tried your best to avoid it, only visited it three times each day for those scant ten minutes you needed to feed it, but that _grin_ it had…even when you were far away, on the opposite side of the castle, it floated on the edge of your thoughts, mocking you.

For the first three days, each morning you woke up screaming and covered in perspiration. You dreamt of nothing else but that leering eerie face. On the fourth night, you could have sworn you heard the sound of bare feet, slowly being dragged over the tiled floors. You did not sleep at all that night.

"After a bit she should be able to walk on her own…" In the morning, you recalled the words the Demon King had said to you. _What if_…you ran to the room where it lay like a broken pile of limbs, and tied its legs together.

You could only hope that once your master returned, he would recognize the perverse corruption of his wife's body and bring an end to this insanity.

The days dragged on.

By the fifth day, you had started talking to yourself.

You hadn't even realized it until you were halfway through your sentence.

"I wonder when Orson will return," you had said.

And it wasn't really talking to yourself, you rationalized, it was merely speaking your thoughts aloud. You would do anything to break the eerie silence that set in when you left the lady's room. Even though all she did was mumble, barely coherently, about her "darling," and how she loved him, it was better than the pin-drop silence that afflicted the rest of the castle. On windy days, you could imagine that the wind was trying to talk to you, and it was slightly better. But on a weatherless day like today, _something_ had to fill the silence, or else you would go insane. So you continued to voice your thoughts aloud, praying that your master would return soon and end this.

By the eighth day, you had almost begun to delude yourself that lady Monica, was, in fact, alive. Perhaps not in possession of all her mental faculties, but alive - like poor Thanos,the village idiot who had gone dumb after falling from a tree and hitting his head.

After all, Lady Monica could speak, breathe, and move. And you would rather pretend she be alive than spend another second feeling so utterly and wretchedly alone in that godforsaken castle.

You untied her legs, feeling guilty and foolish for being so disrespectful to your master's beloved. She smiled at you, and you knew that she has forgiven you for your rudeness. After all, lady Monica had never been one to hold grudges. You wondered why you had been so frightened of her before, and mentally berated yourself for your lack of judgment. Lady Monica was gentle and warm and soft spoken. She would never harm anyone!

Coincidentally, it was the tenth day when you asked her when she thought her husband would return. She turned to you, eyes blank, and whispered, "darling..."

That one action reminded you that she was a puppet, only capable of speaking those four words that the demon king had given her. You reeled back in horror. Had you truly fallen so far that you had begun talking to a monster?

"You have been forsaken," the wind mocked you. "Your master shall never return, and you will go insane."

The castle groaned. "No escape..."

You could have sworn you heard deep, guttural, laughter but you could not identify its source.

You shook your head violently, trying to rid yourself of the voices.

Fresh air! That was what you needed. You slammed the door shut, locking it, and stumbled outside blearily, blinking your eyes furiously as the afternoon light flooded your vision. The wind howled. The castle creaked.

You sank to the ground in despair. Covered your eyes, hugged your knees to your chest, and rocked back and forth, moaning.

The sound of hooves broke you out of your misery. Glancing upwards, you spotted a palomino steed wearily treading towards the castle. Sitting astride it was a familiar figure in green armor...

Your master had returned.

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A/N: OH JANX YOU POOR KID I'M SORRY I MADE YOU GO CRAZY


	5. Chapter 5

You rushed to him, asked him how his journey was, how his health fared, if he had any wounds that needed tending. You remembered that Lyon – no, the Demon King, had told you he had failed at killing the twins, and felt a rush of happiness. At least, though he would still be branded as a traitor to the crown, he had not fallen to such depths of treason.

He shook his head, raised a hand to stem your flood of questions. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, and his beard had grown fuller. Pushed away your helping hand, dismounted his horse, and didn't answer you.

Instead, he replied with a question of his own.

"How is she?"

So that was how it was. "In your rooms, my lord," you had replied shortly. "Perhaps it is better that you form your own opinion of her."

He nodded, turning pale. "Then I shall hurry there. Just tell me this, Janx - she is alive though, is she not?"

You hesitated for a brief moment, and then nodded. After all, medically speaking, she was "alive".

He rushed over to the room where she lay, leaving his horse at the gates. The poor palomino horse that had carried him so faithfully across the long miles home had been forgotten the moment Monica was within his grasp. Grimly leading the tired, sweaty, steed to the stables, you wondered if Orson thought so highly of yourself. A mere means to his end – a happy life with his beloved wife.

"Janx?" Your master called for you.

"Janx? Janx!" his voice grew louder, demanding.

You hurried inside the castle, finding him quickly. "Yes, my lord?"

"Why have you locked my wife away? Where is the key?" Eyes crazed, he looked as though he was ready to attack you.

You fumbled within your pockets, simultaneously racking your brain for an explanation.

"Give it to me!" he shouted, spittle flying.

"I am looking for it," you replied.

"Give it to me!" he roared louder, raising a fist.

You slipped it out of your pocket, but your hands were shaking, and it fell to the floor. He dove for it, heedless of propriety. Scrabbling on the floor, he seized it and ran away from you, and back, back to where that hideous monstrosity awaited him.

You shook your head, panicked. That had been the wrong key – the key to the lord's rooms was silver, not bronze.

"My lord!" you shouted. "Wait. Wait!"

He paid no heed to you. You heard him struggling with the lock, shouting curses at the door.

You rounded the corner to see the long hallway that led to their room. He grudgingly released the door and headed back to meet you.

"Why won't the door open?" he growled.

"Because you have the wrong key," you replied.

"Why did you even lock her in in the first place?" he raised his voice. "This is my wife. Why do you treat her like a prisoner?"

"…I thought it safer." Even to your own ears, the excuse sounded lame. "Perhaps some brigands might seek to attack the castle, and even if I were overrun, if the door were locked, my lady would remain safe." You shook your head at yourself. Was that really the best you could have come up with? Wouldn't brigands just break down the door?

Orson had listened carefully though, nodding his head fanatically at your words. "Yes, yes. You are right. All that matters is her safety, nothing else. Thank you, Janx, for being so thorough. But now that I have returned, I am sure that I will be able to match any thief or murderer that is so foolhardy to assault Castle Renais."

The key, if you will."

You slipped the cool silver into his outstretched hand. Followed him like a grim shadow as he sprinted back towards her room. He fumbled madly with the key, jamming it into his lock, fingers shaking.

"Please calm down, my lord. Would the lady really wish to see you like this?" you were frightened to see him fallen so far into the grasp of insanity.

He shook his head quickly. His gasping gulps for air turned into slower, more even, measured breaths. He straightened his shoulders, turned the key, gently opened the door, and stepped into the room.

His reaction would determine your fate for the next few years, maybe even decades. The only question was, would you be forced again to care for this parody of humanity, or would he see the horror of it and set you free from this nightmare?

You waited outside of the door for him, hoping, waiting, pleading with all your heart to whatever god was up there, though you were sure that whoever they were, they had already long forsaken you and your master.

_Hoping_.

_Waiting_.

An exhaled puff of breath, a loud sigh of relief from your master.

Your heart turned to lead. Numb with disbelief, you kept waiting.

_Hoping._

_Waiting. _

A grating noise in response. "Orson…I love you…"

_Hoping._

_Waiting._

An exultant yell. "Monica! Thank goodness you've been cured!"

And that was when you knew that your hell would not be ending for a while.

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A/N: Yay! Another chapter finished. I don't want school to start again...noesss...but when it does my update time will experience a massive slowdown. D: Still struggling a bit with how I want to characterize Orson, though. I don't want crazy to be his only personality trait :P Reviews are appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6

You retreated to your rooms for the rest of their happy reunion, unable to bear the crushing disappointment one second longer. Tempting, sweeter than the devil's trill, one final option teased you, dancing on the edge of your mind.

"Leave your master," it whispered. "Betray your oath."

The wind was back, and it sung its agreement. "There is nothing left for you in this fortress of broken minds."

The castle creaked. "Nothing left for you but pain and sorrow."

You ignored the voices and stayed in Castle Renais.

* * *

He stayed by her side every day

_It was like before, but not like before_.

Then, when he had told her stories to pass the time, he'd expected no response.

Now, when he talked to her, she was able to reply.

Then, when he had taken care of her, she had been cold and lifeless.

Now, when he brushed her hair and fed her, she was able to smile in return.

Then, he had watched her lie motionless and frail.

Now, when he entered the room, she was able to whisper his name weakly.

_Lyon is a miracle worker._

_A doctor of the highest degree._

At least so your master told you. You no longer needed to see or feed the creature anymore, given your master's doting warmth towards the monster, but you feared for his rapidly waning sanity. No, not waning – he had completely lost it long ago; ever since the moment she died.

The castle was nearly in ruins now, the wind whistling through the many cracks in the floorboards. If you listened carefully, you fancied that you could hear the sounds of the walls' eventual decay, crumbling down from rot and maggots. And there would always be that dripping noise, dripping slowly, slowly, ever so _slowly_, and you were never able to pinpoint the broken pipe that was its source.

The months dragged by.

* * *

A dark-eyed necromancer appeared at the gates, claiming to be acquainted with Lyon. He brought with him an army of unholy soldiers, along with more servants for the castle. Your master barely noticed – he scarcely left his wife's side - and you had tried to turn the undead army away. But the sorcerer had been adamant, and would not let you refuse his creations.

As a result, instead of avoiding your master's room, you sought to be there as much as possible. You would rather spend an eternity with your master and his twisted mind than be surrounded by the undead creatures that now swarmed the castle. True, they were harmless and swept the floors and cleaned the dishes, but the dark emptiness in their eyes repulsed and horrified you. The façade of your late lady was preferable to the sheer multitude of the new servants' shambling, bent forms.

Your lord gave you a week's worth of vacation, noting the dark circles under your eyes and the gray tints beginning to show in your hair.

"Besides," he said. "Riev, Lyon's servant, has so kindly re-staffed our castle. Monica and I will be fine, and you will have time to recuperate."

That was when you had given up hope on your master ever returning to his senses. If he could not see that the new workers weren't alive, then what could possibly bring him back to reality?

But the undead servants _did_ take care of the cooking and cleaning, and you gratefully departed the castle. You doubted that you would have lasted much longer – after all, you mind had already begun slipping off the edge of sanity.

Before you had gone to work for Orson, you had helped out your family with the farmwork. Since you were a little weaker than your brothers but more intellectually gifted, at least, so you thought, and your mother's sister was friends with one of the maids at the castle, you had been offered a position as a servant of the castle.

It had been ten years since the day you swore fealty to Orson, and now you were heading home once more. You visited every year, but now, the circumstances felt quite different.

Approaching the old farm that you once called home, you felt a twinge of unease. The fields lay fallow and overgrown with weeds. The family you knew would never have allowed this to happen, and you feared for their safety. The moon was waning, a sloping crescent casting ominous shadows.

"Mother? Father?" You carefully ventured forward and knocked on the door. "It's me, Janx."

A grating, metallic noise – and an eye peered down at you from the peephole up above. "It's him alright!" the voice shouted to the other people in the house. You recognized the voice – was it your brother, Ziv?

The door opened, and a pair of strong arms pulled you into a gruff embrace.

"Welcome home, Janx."

* * *

A/N: School starts in...a week! All this packing and stuff to do... x_x Cue writing at a snail's pace. I'll still update, but probably on a monthly basis...D:


	7. Chapter 7

After dinner, your family told you of the ruin that Renais had fallen to while Ziv poked at the smoldering coals. Farrah, your little sister, lay asleep upstairs.

"The bandits roam the lands unhindered, taking what they please from the helpless," your mother whispered in hushed tones. "You see what they did to your brother Asher when he tried to stop them?" She gestured at your second brother, whose broken nose tilted awkwardly on his face, like the drooping carrot on a melting snowman. One leg lay limply on a cushion, where an ugly bruise blossomed brightly, shades of purple and blue. "And now we have one less body to help till the fields."

"Not that anybody _has_ been tending to the fields," your father raised his voice angrily. "Not many dare to venture outside, and those who do see that their fruitless efforts are in vain. Thieves and robbers take what they will of the crops that do grow, and some set fire to what's left behind out of pure spite."

You shuddered. You had not realized that the kingdom had fallen so far.

"And what of food? How do manage without the farm? And what of the rest of the town?" You asked.

Asher shrugged. "They fend for themselves however they can. We still have some hens that lay, Ziv and I go to help out the millers', and Farrah occasionally works as a seamstress. But soon we'll be forced to make a move. This sort of uneasy lifestyle won't work out much longer…I've heard tell that the city is safer. More people, city gates, a guard or two to keep the outlaws at bay – that kind of thing. But crazy King Orson's rule can't last much longer – I've got a friend writing to me about a rebel's alliance in Juno."

The room grew quiet and heavy with the weight of unspoken thoughts, and your father gravely bowed his head, staring solemnly at the floor.

The next day was market day, and Farrah dragged you along to help her with some errands. You looked at her closely. The warm chocolate eyes that had been so cheerful just last year seemed weary, as though she had seen sights that had forced her to mature beyond her years.

As you walked, you heard murmurs of uprisings within Renais, of thousands going hungry, of brigands and thieves on the loose, of corrupt lords raising taxes that were sucking the people dry.

The streets were emptier, and the vendors that lined the streets looked grim and sorrowful.

And when you returned home, Asher was waiting for you.

* * *

A/N: I realize this chapter is a bit short, sorry about that! Schoolwork is already sapping my life, even though it's only been a week...


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: ORGANIC CHEMISTRY IS SAPPING MY LIFE. as a result, shorter chapters.

* * *

You stopped at the doorway and he glanced at you.

"Janx."

You nodded at him. "Asher."

Asher looked at Farrah. "Mother needs a few extra hands to prepare dinner today, go be a good girl and help her out, Farrah."

She nodded and quickly hurried to the kitchen, dark brown waves of hair swaying behind her.

Asher turned his eyes on you. "We need to talk. Come with me."

You followed him to his room in silence, wondering what could possibly be so important, so secret. Farrah probably was wondering the same thing – she wasn't a fool and she would know a dismissal when she heard one.

"Close the door behind you," he instructed.

You obliged, and it clicked softly shut behind you. "Well, what is it, Asher? What could possibly require such secrecy?"

"I've heard of the devilry that goes on behind the closed doors of Castle Renais," he looked straight into your eyes.

You stared back at him, unwilling to deny or affirm anything.

"You don't have to hide anything from me, Janx. I'm your brother! Is loyalty to your lord more important than honesty to your family? Blood is thicker than water, Janx, and if Orson stays in his gilded chair built on insanity and sorcery our family is sure to fall to ruin."

Silence.

He stared at you.

You stared at him.

And then you crumbled.

You had kept your silence for far too long, and the minute your mouth opened, the entire sordid story came spilling out.

The insanity, your lord's twisted stubbornness to see the lady's death for what it was, the doctors who proclaimed her dead, the charlatans that claimed they could heal her, and finally, Lyon. You told Asher of the way Lyon brought the lady back from the dead to her warped semblance of life. Of the way he had been possessed by the Demon Lord, that otherworldly power who surpassed all known evil. Of how Riev brought an army of undead warriors and a slew of servants that were barely held together by decaying sinews.

Disbelief in his eyes. Then he threw his arms around you, holding you close. You hadn't realized that you had been shaking so hard.

Tears of emotion leaked from the corners of your eyes. You had been holding all that terror, all that pain, all to yourself and now that you had someone to share with, someone who might not be able to _understand_, but could listen and comfort you, was almost too much to bear.

You stayed there in the comfort of your brothers' warm embrace, feeling safe, feeling relieved, feeling like everything would turn out okay.

Then he pulled away from you. Wet his lips a little nervously, but steeled himself and spoke.

"Janx, there's something I need you to do."

* * *

A/N: Oh my, what will Asher ask of Janx? We shall see...


	9. Chapter 9

"What is it?" you replied hesitantly.

He paced across the room, putting a few yards' distance between the both of you. Abruptly changing the topic, he slung the question at you. "Do you feel like Orson is happy with the way he is living?"

You blinked, unsure of what he was implying. "Yes, I suppose so." After all, he thought that his wife was alive, and Orson's betrayal of his own liege lords hadn't seemed to bother him very much at all. Though you could never comprehend such a betrayal, Orson had taken not even a minute when he made the choice.

He shook his head rapidly. "No. Let me rephrase that. If Orson was still in his right mind, do you think he would be happy with the way he is living?"

You did not have to think as long with that question. "No. My lord is a man of honor…to see his wife's image disgraced by such sorcery and perverted with such unholy rituals…no, he would not be happy."

"Then why don't you bring this madness to an end?" Asher said. "Orson trusts you. You have the power to end this insanity! All you would have to do is slip a little poison into his drink."

Your mind reeled with disbelief. Murder your liege lord? The thought was so…outlandish, so completely against all of your ideals, that you could barely wrap your mind around the idea. And yet…

Asher was still looking at you. "You would save us all. Like I said, blood is thicker than water, and it should be obvious what is more important. The livelihood of your entire family – or an oath made years ago to a ruler who has long lost his mind?"

You were shaking your head, now. "I swore a blood oath to Orson."

Asher punched the wall in frustration. "But we're your _family_, Janx. Are you really going to choose him over us? Think over it, for a while, please. Look at me –" he gesticulated at his bruised leg and smashed face wildly. "Look at me – what if next time I'm not there to save our family from bandits? If they did this to me, what do you think they would do to Farrah? And Ziv. He's 10! But he's been forced to grow up so quickly, too quickly, that I worry he's lost any resemblance of a happy youth."

You stuttered. "I don't…I can't choose now."

"Then think about it." He stared straight into your eyes. "Take this, go back to your master, and think about it."

He pushed his hands out at you, presenting a vial filled with clear liquid.

You shook your head. "No. I can't."

"Take it." His eyes were imploring now. "For me. For Farrah. For our family."

He and you stared at the vial in between the both of you.

"Janx, please. Just take it."

You took the tiny, capped vial with trembling hands.

* * *

A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long hiatus. Real life has been intruding on my writing...and I've just given up on Nanowrimo, which was taking up the little bit of free time I actually had.


	10. Chapter 10

Standing outside of Castle Renais once more, you clutched the cool glass vial that you had hidden safely away in your warm dark pocket.

The castle was no longer crumbling, and the ivy and weeds that had begun to overcome the castle had been hacked away, the castle's exterior forced into a picturesquely beautiful scene.

The castle looked better.

The guards who manned the gate looked as though they had been taken straight off the roads, where they had probably just finished robbing some poor soul. A dark aura pervaded the castle grounds.

The castle looked worse.

You shook the vial and watched the clear liquid within slosh back and forth. How could something so seemingly harmless be so deadly, you wondered.

When you approached the castle gate, the two guards blocked your path with spears – not in the normal crossed fashion. Instead, they pointed the spears at you menacingly, stopping you midway in crossing the drawbridge.

"What're you here for?" one snarled at you. "Lord Riev ain't taking any visitors."

"I'm here to see Lord Orson," you replied. "I thought he was in charge of Castle Renais?" you phrased it as a question, not a challenge. Any trace of mockery could result in dire results, you realized.

"Lord Orson? Oh, that creepy bastard. Nobody ever sees him. All he does is spend time with that thing…"

"Well, I'm here to see him. I'm a servant of the castle, coming back from my leave. Let me in," you repeated.

"Alright, suit yourself," one guard shrugged and lowered his spear. "Chances are Orson doesn't even remember who you are."

"Hold up," the other guard growled. "We gotta clear it with Lord Riev first."

"Clear what with Riev?"

You spun around, chills running up your spine from hearing the familiar voice once more.

"Lord Lyon!" the guards fearfully glanced at one another.

"Well," one guard began. "This guy wants to go in and see Orson. But we wanted to check it with Lord Riev, to make sure he's not dangerous or nothing."

"He's fine. Let him in," the man placed a hand on the back of your shoulder, and you could not suppress the involuntary shudder that traveled up your body.

The guards stepped aside, and allowed the two of you to pass.

"I don't like Lyon. Creepy little shit," you heard one mutter to the other.

"Shut up, you nincompoop. Do you think he can't hear us?"

Lyon grinned, revealing sharp white teeth. Out of the corner of your eyes, he saw his hands moving quickly in a complex pattern.

From behind you, there was a flash of bright light, a whoosh, and a short-lived scream that cut off almost immediately after it started.

You shuddered again.

Once inside, you turned to him, confused and angry. "What have you done to Lord Orson? What have you done to the castle? And why are you treating me so nicely?"

He raised an eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. "What have I done?" He mockingly gestured at himself, playing the innocent. "I've done nothing. You see, I have more…_important_ matters to deal with than the state of Castle Renais and its hermit lord. I've entrusted this castle to Riev – this is simply a checkup, to see how things are going. And besides…you amuse me."

Almost as if on cue, a dark form materialized before Lyon and yourself.

"Riev. Are the preparations ready?"

The dark, shambling, shape nodded, grinning ingratiatingly. "Yes, my lord. We have much to discuss."

"Indeed? Well enlighten me, Riev. Ah, and I must mention – you'll need to station some new guards at the front gate."

"Again? My lord, may I just use undead? Humans willing to serve me are so _difficult_ to come by."

"No, Riev. There is already enough dissent growing in the countryside. Stationing undead at the front gate would only serve to declare your existence as a necromancer within Castle Renais."

"…I understand, my lord." Riev paused, then glanced at you disdainfully. "But what is _that_ doing here?"

You kept your head held high. "I am here to see my master. Where is he?"

"Ah. So you must be the only one of Orson's loyal servants, blindingly dedicated even to the very end," he sneered. "Then I'll turn that question right back on you. Where do _you_ think he is? Here's a hint: he hasn't left the room that he is in for weeks. "

You knew. The question that you had asked had merely been a formality, and the passing glimmer of hope that Riev might say otherwise died as quickly as it had flitted, unbidden, into your mind.

You started down that long corridor once more, heart feeling heavier with each step.

* * *

A/N: I'm going to finish this up soon, I promise! Bah, this is why I don't take up long projects...I eventually lose enthusiasm and then regain it two months later :T Now what will our Janx do when he sees his master? /hmmm...


	11. Chapter 11

And so here you stood again, before that cursedly innocent oak door that gave no sign of the evil and depravity that hid behind it.

You knocked on the door. "My lord? It is I, Janx. I've returned."

No reply.

You tried the door. It slid seamlessly on its hinges, and then caught for a moment, squeaking unceremoniously. A flickering candle lit the room, and you saw your master sitting on a chair beside the bed where the monstrosity of his former wife lay. His rich brown hair was streaked with rivers of gray and white, but his eyes were happy and his mouth was stretched into a wide smile.

"Janx! Why did you not knock before you entered?" he chidingly reprimanded you.

"I did, my lord. But there was no reply, so I entered."

He cocked his head, confused for a moment. After a while, his face cleared, and he nodded to himself several times. "Monica and I were in the middle of discussing one of her favorite books. Perhaps we were too engrossed in our conversation, and neither of us heard.

So. Your master had fallen so far as to gift Lyon's marionette with the power of speech through his own delusions.

"In any case, Janx, we are glad that you have returned. But could you give us a moment together? Since Monica is so frail, as you very well know, I want to spend all my waking moments with her. Perhaps when her condition improves, you could help bring her outside to the gardens, where we may all breathe the fresh air and smell the flowers."

"Yes, my lord." You bowed out and retreated back to your quarters. Thankfully, they were still separated from those of the reanimated corpses that Riev had brought to work in the castle.

* * *

Lying in bed. The moon rose high in the sky, a waning crescent. You wondered if Orson was still awake. The creature had probably fallen asleep at this time of night. You shook off the blankets and slid your hand underneath your pillow to find the vial of crystal clear liquid. Hastily fastened a cloak around your shoulders and crept down the hallway and down, down towards that dreadful room of unholy secrets.

The castle was dark, having few windows to illuminate the shadowed corridors, but your eyes quickly adjusted and refocused to the low light. Almost there…

A sinister figure blocked your path. There was no doubt that he had seen you. Perhaps, you could explain away your presence with a feeble excuse…

"Janx! How good to see you, my old friend." Lyon, _no_, the Demon King, purred. "And where might you be off to in the dead of night? Sneaking off to see a lady friend?" He laughed quietly to himself.

"I merely wanted to check up on my lord and his lady," you replied. You were surprised at how steady your voice was. "It has been so long since I have last seen my lord, and this morning, he had dark circles beneath his eyes. I want to make sure that he is getting the rest that he needs."

"Is that so?" Lyon's eyes glinted red in the dim moonlight. "Then what's in that vial you're hiding underneath your cloak?"

You straightened up. Of course. What kind of fool were you, to try and lie to the Demon King? "I don't need to justify myself to you," you replied. "You'll see straight through whatever I say either way. Why waste our time?"

"Hmph. So I see you've developed some sort of a backbone." He sniffed. "Do you realize how _easily_ I could kill you? But no. You are much too entertaining for that. And I don't particularly care if you kill your master. But can you imagine the pain of his betrayal? He _trusted_ you, and you're going to repay his kindness and his faith with a tasty dose of poison. Guilt is a terrible emotion, and it will haunt you for the rest of your life." He smiled. "I almost wish you had the courage to murder him. Your moral misgivings would provide me endless amusement."

"Orson is no longer the master I used to know. Now will you step aside, or must I fight my way past you?"

"Really? You would harm poor, fragile, little me?" He smirked. "No matter. Orson is of no use to me anymore, anyways. And I doubt you'll be able to actually do it."

You ground your teeth together, held the vial tightly within your hand. He stepped aside, grinning widely. You didn't look back, but you could feel those burning red eyes, watching your receding back. You took care to open the door quietly. Should your master have woken up, it would have been difficult, though not impossible, to explain your presence within the room. This time, the hinges didn't catch and you were able to enter the room unnoticed.

The candle you had seen earlier reached the final stages of its life. It now sputtered erratically, vainly providing a wavering light for those who needed none. Your master was sound asleep, and the creature lay motionless and silent, save for a monotonic wheezing of its breath.

You held your master's death within your hands.

* * *

A/N: And of course, I decide to start writing this again during finals week. There is no end to my procrastination...


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: I'm still alive, I promise! I've just been busy...with procrastinating. Yeah. Also Fire Emblem Awakening. _

* * *

You tilted the vial back and forth in your hands, heart beating furiously. You stared wordlessly at your fingers. Were these the hands of a murderer? Could you live with yourself after knowing that you had purposefully ended the life of another man? Your slippery palms were having trouble holding on to the bottle, and so you clenched it tightly within a fist.

Your master was happy. It may be a blinded, unsacred sort of happiness, but you knew that had Lyon not come, your master would have continued to sit by your late lady's bedside until he wasted away. You wondered if he would ever be able to live without her, or at least, without the parody of her that Lyon had created. Your true lady was long gone, hopefully to heaven, and oblivious of the monstrosities that her husband had done in her name. Your fingers hovered above the vial, trembling. Did you have the conviction?

Unscrewing the cap. Entire body shaking. Heart pounding so loudly that surely, _surely_, your master would hear it and wake up. Bringing the vial close to your master's lips…

You brought your hand back down, taking shaky breaths. Your forehead was saturated with cold sweat, and the liquid remained within the bottle, victimless.

Lyon had been right. You could never betray your oath and murder your master in his sleep. Your mind turned quickly, frantically seizing whatever other idea you could come up with. Killing your master was something you could not do. But killing the monster that Lyon had created…that was a completely different story. Putting an end to the horrifying mimicry of life that the creature possessed would be a mercy in itself.

You crept forward, taking care not to wake it. Then, once you were near the monster's wantonly gaping maw, you unscrewed the cap to the vial and dumped all of its contents down the creature's throat.

You had almost made it out of the room when the creature spluttered – once, twice, three times. You knew you had to hurry. Perhaps the poison would send it into convulsions, which would surely wake your master. You shut the door and scurried out quickly, through empty hallways and moonlit corridors, and back into your room, a solitary bastion of life in a castle filled with the stench of death.

* * *

The next morning found you well rested and healthy. Now that she was dead once more, perhaps your lord would awaken from his delusions, you hoped. As you headed off to your master's room, daylight was streaming out of the windows and throughout the castle, and you took it as a good omen.

Stopping at the door, you took a deep breath and knocked. "My lord? How are you faring?"

"Fine, thank you. Please leave us alone, Janx."

Did he believe that it was another illness, wrapped up in his denials as usual? Or was he quietly mourning his wife, having finally accepted her death? Or was the creature still alive and breathing, the poison having been ineffective?

You had to know. You stretched out your hand, fingers slowly closing around the door handle…

Lyon strode past you, decisively and briskly, forcing the door open with both of his hands. His cloak billowed behind him as he shouldered you to the side. "Orson."

You heard a scuffling sound as your master roughly pushed back his chair in the process of standing up. "What do you want, Lyon!? I've fulfilled my part of the bargain. Now leave us alone."

"I'm not here for anything." Lyon spoke briskly. "I just wanted to let you know that Ephraim is approaching the castle, not more than an hour away."

"Damnit!" You peered into the room, curious. A wrapped yellow gift sat on the table by your late lady's bedside, and your master was shouting angrily at Lyon. "Why is he coming? Why today? It's Monica's _birthday_, doesn't he know that!? How inconsiderate of him."

"You betrayed him, after all," Lyon reminded him in an abrupt tone. "Either way, I have neither the time nor patience to deal with him. He's your problem. I'm just the messenger."

And with that, Lyon vanished before your eyes in a purple haze of smoke, leaving you with your distraught master.

He was shaking. You watched as you saw his fingers clench and unclench as he tried to control his emotions. He strode abruptly towards the door, then halted and headed back towards the creature, stretched out a hand and reached for her, pleadingly, desperately. A pale arm lifted mechanically, and its cold, lifeless fingers intertwined with his. The deep lines ingrained between his eyes softened, and his breathing became less erratic. He kissed its forehead gently, then turned to you.

"Janx. I want you to watch Monica. Protect her, regardless of what becomes of me. If it seems that I should fall, take her away to somewhere safe and leave me behind. This is my last order to you." His tone was brief and succinct, but you saw his underlying plea within his eyes. Your master had no control over whether or not you obeyed him, and he would never know.

"Yes, my lord." You bowed your head in subservience.

The corners of his mouth relaxed, ever so slightly. "You have always been the only one I could ever trust, save for _her_. Thank you, Janx." He made a small movement, as though he was leaving, then stopped and laid a hand on your shoulder.

"Goodbye."

You kept your head bowed, not meeting his gaze.

"Farewell, my lord."

You heard a scraping of silver and you watched your master's heeled boots strode past you, out, out to where the rightful rulers of the continent had finally come to reclaim their kingdom. Out to where your master would most likely meet his death.


End file.
